


You Worry Me

by trashcangimmick



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Bottom Jack, Choking, Dirty Talk, Gross Porny Fluff, Kinfeplay, M/M, Power Dynamics, References to Wound Fucking, Secretly This Is Fluff, Subspace, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-28 14:38:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15051335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashcangimmick/pseuds/trashcangimmick
Summary: Jack sometimes gets a little too caught up in his work and various plans to take over the universe. Wilhelm has to make sure Jack does things like eat and sleep. If Jack isn’t feeling cooperative, Wilhelm is bigger than him and will use appropriate force.





	You Worry Me

**Author's Note:**

> Hand-wavey BDSM AU where everyone’s either a Dom or a sub. Think power dynamics of Omegaverse without the biology. Idk. I just want Jack to get dicked down good and hard #BottomJack 2k18

 

Someone is leaning on the doorbell. Jack isn’t completely sure how long it’s been going on. He was lost deep in the code of an old Atlas gun. It’s written in an outdated language he barely remembers from his time on hacking forums in High School. The skeleton makes sense, but the guts are a mess. He’s been trying to fix them for days. 

 

Who the fuck is bothering him?

 

Jack pokes at the intercom with annoyance. 

 

“What?” He snaps, already turning back to his three different screens full of numbers and functions. 

 

“Either you can let me in, or I can blow a hole in your door. Dealer’s choice.” Wilhelm’s gruff voice drifts over the speaker. 

 

It makes Jack’s pulse stutter. Because:

 

  1. Wilhelm is 100% serious about shooting the door in  
  

  2. Jack has ignored at least six calls on his ECHO, all from Wilhelm, probably trying to check on him  
  

  3. Jack isn’t sure when he last left his office or slept for more than a few hours but it’s probably been almost a week?  
  

  4. He’s also uncertain as to when he last ate  
  

  5. He’s in a fuckload of trouble 



 

Not that he  _ really _ has anything to worry about. He’s Handsome Goddamned Jack. Wilhelm is his employee, whom he could fire or execute if he felt like it. But also Wilhelm is a Dom, and Jack is a sub. It’s impossible to escape the feeling that Jack has once again disappointed an authority figure and is about to be punished. 

 

Jack decided a long time ago that he didn’t really care what society wanted to tell him about who he was and how he should behave. But he can also acknowledge the dark heat already curling at the pit of his stomach, because Wil is using the  _ tone _ . And whether or not he’ll ever admit it, Jack is astoundingly bad at taking care of himself or making time for things like eating and sleep. Wilhelm is the only reason he’s still alive, not just because he’s a good bodyguard, but also because he’s learned to intervene when Jack goes unresponsive for too long. 

 

“Do not shoot my door, or the replacement cost is coming directly out of your salary,” Jack snarls. Maybe because he wants to pretend he has some semblance of control over the situation. 

 

He still presses the button to let Wilhelm in. He has just enough time to save his work before there’s a large, bulky figure looming over him. Holding a bag full of delicious smelling food. Shit. Jack’s so hungry. 

 

Play it cool.  _ Play it cool.  _

 

“You have thirty seconds to explain why you haven’t answered any of my calls.” Wilhelm raises his eyebrows. Still talking the same way. Low, confident, commanding. No room for argument. It makes Jack want to melt into a puddle and let the fog crowd in around him. But that would be admitting defeat. 

 

“Gun!” Jack gestures at the monitors, visibly flustered. “Fancy gun! If I get this operational, it’s gonna be a friggin beast—“

 

“And that means you had to go radio silent… why exactly?”

 

“Listen, reading DiamondScript 2 takes a lot of time and focus. The documentation is all sealed up in proprietary Atlas libraries that are only hackable because I’m a goddamn genius. The fact that I even understand half this shit is astounding. I am pretty much—HEY!”

 

Jack is already in the air, with Wilhelm’s thick arms wrapped around him. He is draped unceremoniously over Wil’s shoulder, as they start to move away from his desk. 

 

“Put me down, skagfucker! I’ll turn you into a space popsicle!”

 

“No. You won’t.”

 

Jack can’t see Wilhelm’s face. But it’s obvious he’s smiling. Jack isn’t even flailing or fighting that hard. He’s kind of already given up. He stays slumped, undignified, over Wilhelm’s shoulder, until he’s deposited on the couch. 

 

Wilhelm sets the bag of food on the coffee table. He disappears into the kitchen. Then comes back with a plate, silverware, and a glass of water. He puts it all on the table next to the bag before sinking down beside Jack on the couch. 

 

“Eat.” 

 

“What if I’m not hungry?” Jack knows that he already sounds whiny and desperate. Like a petulant child that resents the fact an adult might actually know what’s best for him. 

 

“I bet you can’t even tell me what day it is.”

 

“Wednesday?” Jack grimaces. He knows he’s wrong from Wil’s exasperated sigh. 

 

“Saturday. It’s Saturday night. Eat the food before it gets cold.”

 

Shit. Jack’s not usually that far off. Stupid Atlas with their incomprehensible, secret programming bullshit. 

 

He tears the bag open and unpacks it, heaping rice and steamed vegetables, and meat with some sort of brown sauce onto the plate. He’s starving. He eats so fast he barely tastes the food as it goes down. Wil just sits there, watching him. Possibly worried he’s going to choke. 

 

When Jack finishes, he reaches for the water and chugs the whole glass. The abrupt reintroduction of nutrients is a shock to his system. It feels like there’s a brick in his stomach. And he’s  _ tired _ . He’s so fucking tired. 

 

He slumps back onto the couch, resting his head on Wilhelm’s bicep without thinking about it. Wil pulls Jack into his lap and wraps him in a loose hug. It feels good to just let go. To let Wil pet his hair and whisper soothing nothings. 

 

It’s horrible—slipping so fast into that headspace where everything is blurry at the edges and sensory input seems to multiply with itself exponentially. Jack’s nerves light up everywhere Wil touches him. Even through his clothes he can feel the heat of those wide, calloused palms tracing across his back. Down his sides. It’s not enough. He needs more. He whimpers because his tongue feels like it’s soaked in alcohol, too clumsy to form real words. 

 

“It’s all right. I’ve got you.” Wilhelm murmurs. “I’m going to take care of you now.”

 

Most of the time, that sort of talk would make Jack prickly and even more disagreeable than usual. He resents being babied. Just because he’s a sub doesn’t mean he needs anyone’s help. He’s basically king of the universe. He clawed his way to the top, running on a healthy love of violence and pure, unbridled spite. He’s nobody’s wilting flower. He can out top most Doms through sheer force of will. People think he  _ is _ a Dom. There’s a constant stream of pretty little subs, throwing themselves at his feet, begging to be collared. 

 

Right now, though. All he wants is to be cradled and protected. He wants to be held close. He wants someone to tell him everything is OK and that he doesn’t need to worry about anything for a little while. He wants to trust. Give up the reins. Wil is strong, steady, and solid as a fucking rock. So Jack surrenders to it completely. He lets all the tension drain out of his body and he just… floats… 

 

***

 

Jack must have fallen asleep. He crashed hard if the heaviness in his limbs is anything to go by. They aren’t on the couch anymore. They’re in his bed. Jack’s stripped down to his boxers, and there’s a large, warm body curled around him. 

 

When he tries to move, Wil squeezes him tight. 

 

“You’re not going  _ anywhere.” _

 

Jack shivers at the weight in his voice. At all the possibilities it promises. Because Jack is awake now. He’s not spun out and exhausted and unable to fight. And that’s the thing. Jack really  _ likes _ to fight. That’s the fun part. Kicking and screaming on the way down. Being forced. Being hurt. It’s why he needs someone who is bigger and stronger. He needs a trained killer. Because otherwise the struggle isn’t dangerous. It’s not real. 

 

Wil is big, but Jack is fast. He slips out of Wil’s grasp and makes it halfway to the door before there are large hands clamping down on his hips and dragging him back towards the bed. 

 

“No! Let me go!” Jack twists and squirms as violently as he can. He even kicks Wil in the shin, though he stops short of elbowing him in the gut. Wil really doesn’t like being sucker punched, and he’ll give as good as he gets. 

 

Then there’s a knife at Jack’s throat. He stops moving as the metal prickles against his skin. 

 

“You’re not giving any orders today.” Wil laughs, deep and almost mean as he pulls Jack in close. His fuzzy chest brushes up against Jack’s naked back. The blade still pressing dangerously into his neck. “You’re going to do exactly what I tell you, and be a very good boy, otherwise I’m going to hurt you.”

 

Jack bites back a moan. Already hard. He needs this. Desperately. Even if he feels more coherent now than he has in days, he’s still frayed at the edges. Pulsing with nervous energy. 

 

The knife stays out as he is pushed unceremoniously onto the mattress. He even lies still for a moment, staring up at Wilhelm. Standing there, shoulders squared, twirling the blade with an effortless artistry. 

 

“Are you going to stay put, or do I have to tie you down?”

 

Jack answers by trying to lunge for the pistol he always keeps on his bedside table. It’s not there. Shit. Fuck. 

 

“Yeah… I didn’t feel like getting shot at today.” Wil rests one knee on the edge of the mattress. “I hid all your favorite toys, so don’t waste the effort.”

 

“What is this, a friggin hostage situation?” Jack knows he already sounds wrecked. 

 

“I guess you could call it that. I do have a list of demands and no intention of letting you go anytime soon.”

 

No weapons. No escape. Nobody to hear him scream. Just the thought of it all makes Jack’s blood run a few degrees hotter. He’s trapped. 

 

Wil swings his leg over Jack’s hips and sits on top of him. Pinning him down with more body weight than Jack could really struggle against. He tries anyway. Because he wants the knife back at his throat. Wilhelm obliges. Pressing the blade in almost hard enough to break skin.

 

“Hands above your head.” Wil has this nearly casual way of giving orders. Like he’s so goddamn sure Jack is going to listen, despite all evidence to the contrary. 

 

“No.”

 

The tip of the knife digs in. Wil grabs hold of Jack’s chin and leans down. 

 

“Hands above your head right now, or I will stick this knife in your stomach and twist it around until you’re screaming and begging for me to stop. And then do you know what I’m gonna do?”

 

“What?” Jack knows his eyes are wide and glassy. Wil must be able to feel how hard he is. How fast he’s breathing. How wildly his pulse is fluctuating. 

 

“I’m going to fuck the hole I made. Because you’re a bratty slut that doesn’t deserve to have my cock in your ass or down your throat like you want it.”

 

Jack groans. He can’t help it. Part of him knows it's an empty threat. But god, he wants to believe it. He lifts his hands over his head without thinking about it. He stays perfectly still as Wil wraps the padded leather cuffs around his wrists and tightens them just enough to bite. 

 

“There. Now if you’re finished throwing a tantrum, maybe we can have a reasonable conversation.” Wil runs his knuckles along Jack’s cheek. It’s a gesture weighted with both fondness and imminent danger. “Do you know why I’m upset with you?”

 

“Because… my ECHO died?”

 

Wil slaps him across the face so fast Jack barely registers it. He can feel the sting. The heat left behind. And Wil’s right back to petting him oh so gently.

 

“Don’t lie to me.”

 

“OK. Fine. I ignored you because I was busy. Last time I checked, you’re my employee and whether or not I want to talk to you is my own goddamn decision.”

 

Wilhelm just looks at him. The same way so many teachers, and supervisors, and self-righteous assholes with a savior complex have looked at him.  _ I’m not mad, Jack, I’m just disappointed.  _ He’s not sure why it feels different when Wil does it. He tries not to examine any feelings surrounding Wil all that hard. He’s happier feigning ignorance. Because ultimately, Jack isn't going to let himself be collared. Ever. And Wil isn't the sort of guy that could deal with that longterm. Whatever they have right now is precarious, undefined, and it's going to stay that way until something gives and it all crashes and burns. Jack's prepared for it. He's always prepared for abandonment. That's the price you pay for getting to the top. Step on enough people climbing the ladder, and eventually there's nobody left to rely on.

 

Somehow, Wil is still here. For now. He's lasted longer than most people. He's earned this. He's the only person who's allowed to see Jack all needy, vulnerable and desperate. 

 

“I’m upset because you didn’t leave your office for almost two weeks, and you have visibly lost weight from not eating or sleeping.” Wil runs the knife down Jack’s sternum. Not quite slicing. Just suggesting. “It’s my job to make sure you stay alive. When you don’t let me do that, I get a little testy.”

 

Jack has to think on that for a second. Has he actually lost weight? Maybe? Who the fuck knows. He’ll gain it back. It’s not like he has time to hit the gym on a regular basis. If he ate three squares a day, he’d probably get pretty fat. 

 

“I… will admit that I lost track of time,” Jack offers. He’s feeling charitable. Or being tied to the bed is making him kind of loopy. Weird how that works. He’s all piss and vinegar, and then you put some pressure on his wrists, make it so he can’t move, and… 

 

“That seems to happen to you a lot. Which is why you need someone around to make sure you don’t destroy your flesh prison while that brain of yours is off in the clouds.”

 

It does sound reasonable when you put it like that. Maybe? Focusing is difficult. Especially when the knife finally cuts into him, dragging across his left pectoral muscle, drawing blood. He makes a Noise. A whine that’s somewhere between pitiful and lusty. He’s incredibly aware of his body. Every nerve, every skin cell, especially the ones Wilhelm is touching. He wants more touching. There are no other thoughts in his head. 

 

“Are you still with me, Jack?”

 

“Ugh.”

 

“I’d prefer an answer that is at least a full word, if you can’t manage a sentence.”

 

“Fuck.”

 

“Watch your language.” Another swift slap across the face. Pleasant sting.  “Can you give me a color?”

 

“Green.”

 

“Good boy.”

 

The intoxicating praise crashes through him. Feels fucking awesome, even if it’s somewhat undeserved. He’s not being good. He’s not quite ready. 

 

The knife digs in again, tracing lines of red between Jack’s ribs. All down his right side. Four cuts? Five? He squirms and keens, helpless to resist. There’s a layer of gauze over the world. Dulling his senses to anything outside his own physicality. The pain is sharp and bright. His blood trickles out like warm tears. Is he crying? His face is wet. 

 

Wilhelm presses the cold metal against Jack’s lower lip.

 

“Lick it clean.”

 

Part of him still wants to resist. It’s getting quieter with each passing moment. Drowning in the heavy fog that makes him want to give in and just do as he’s told. 

 

“Do you want me to shove the knife in mouth? I imagine that would injure some important things.”

 

Jack flicks his tongue out. Tracing along the flat of the blade. Tasting himself. Salt and copper. He licks until there’s no more blood. Until Wil makes a low satisfied sound and withdraws he knife. 

 

Everything feels a few steps removed. Jack can feel Wil shifting on the bed. Then Wil has a hand on Jack’s head, lifting it enough to loop a strip of soft cloth underneath it. He ties the blindfold loosely. It’s not like Jack will be able to get it off in his current state. 

 

The darkness is soothing. The pain is a vague buzzing, echoing through his nerves, but not demanding direct attention. 

 

A wide hand wraps around his jugular and squeezes hard enough to cut off his air supply. His lungs ache. His face starts to throb. He’s slipping down towards unconsciousness. It’s a panicky sensation. Especially with how little he can do to stop it. He thrashes weakly. Fingers flexing, unable to grasp any sort of anchor. He might even let out a distressed sob. 

 

Then the pressure lets up. Deep, heaving breaths. He’s only allowed free access to air for a few precious seconds before he’s being choked again. 

 

The process repeats. Over and over. Until Jack stops anticipating any part of it. Stops counting the seconds until he gets to come up for air. Stops struggling. He lets the blank acceptance of his fate wash over him as his body goes slack. He has no control. No power. He is totally at someone else’s mercy. 

 

He feels calm for the first time in weeks. 

 

“Color?”

 

The hand has left his neck in favor of cupping his face. His brain feels muddy. Can’t think. Can’t process. He’s supposed to say… something… ?

 

“Jack, I need you to give me a color.”

 

Red for bad. Yellow for slow down. Neither of those things. 

 

“Um… green.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

Fingers tangle in Jack’s hair, tugging just enough to sting. It feels nice. Everything feels nice. A thick thumb pushes against his lips. Jack opens his mouth. Swirls his tongue. Sucks greedily. 

 

“Hmm. Are you ready to be sweet now, Jack?” Wil pulls Jack’s hair harder. “I don’t enjoy punishing you. You’re just such a nasty little bitch sometimes. You don’t leave me any choice.”

 

Wil withdraws his thumb. Jack whines at the loss. But then he’s distracted by the feeling of the knife against his hip. There’s a loud ripping noise as the blade tears along the seam of his boxers. He’s naked. Totally exposed. 

 

He doesn’t resist when Wil grabs his knees and pushes them up towards his chest. Wil rubs his thumb between Jack’s ass cheeks. It’s still slick with spit. He traces teasing circles around Jack’s hole. Not pressing inside yet. It’s worse torture than the cutting or the choking. But Jack can’t move. Doesn’t want to move. He’s a pliant ragdoll that doesn’t do anything besides moan and whimper. 

 

“This is what you wanted, huh?” Wil’s voice has gotten impossibly lower. Rougher. It wraps around Jack’s spinal cord, squeezing him into total submission. “You’ve been acting out on purpose. Ignoring me, not taking care of yourself, just waiting for me to get sick of it and show you who’s really in charge.”

 

Jack wants to say  _ fuck off.  _ He wants to say  _ my work schedule has nothing to do with you.  _ But it’s not entirely true. It’s always a conscious choice, behaving badly when he’s perfectly capable of doing something simple like answering a call or stopping a project to eat dinner. 

 

“I’ve told you before, baby. You can have this anytime you need if you just ask nicely.”

 

It’s no fun to ask nicely. Besides. 

 

“You went away.” Jack mumbles. Voice so pathetic and small. 

 

“Is that why you’re upset? You sent me on that mission to the Edens, sweetheart. I came back as soon as I could.”

 

“Too long.” Jack can feel himself pouting. He’s so out of it, he doesn’t really care. 

 

“Maybe you should stop telling me to do things that require extensive travel.” Wil chuckles. “Or maybe I should just stop listening to you.”

 

Wil’s thumb finally sinks into him, and Jack has never needed anything so badly. They haven’t fucked in almost a month. He wants it to be rough. Fast, hard and desperate. So of course, Wil takes his time. Stretching him so slowly. Stopping to slick his fingers up every so often. Teasing at the edge of where Jack wants him, but never quite getting there. 

 

It doesn’t matter how much Jack begs. Even if he whines and whimpers,  _ please, please, please _ —they aren’t doing anything until Wil decides he’s ready. And apparently that moment won’t come until Jack shuts up and just accepts that he has to wait. 

 

Wil kisses Jack on the knee. Then his inner thigh. He lets Jack’s legs fall so he can rest his feet on the bed. Jack can feel the enticing press of Wil’s cock against his hole. Thick, and blood-hot, and almost edging into him. 

 

“Next time you’re feeling neglected, what are you going to do?”

 

“I’m gonna… um… tell you?”

 

“Good boy.”

 

Wil finally,  _ finally _ thrusts forward and Jack almost comes just from the satisfaction of being filled. Will rocks deep into him, quickly picking up speed. Their mouths smear together in a sloppy, desperate kiss. Jack is too hot all over. Trapped under Wil’s weight, bloody, wrung out and ruined completely. He hates that he wants to feel like this all the time. Helpless. Cared for. Warm-fuzzy and spaced out. 

 

The slap of skin against skin echoes through the room. Wilhelm grunts, low and deep. His fuzzy stomach rubs against Jack’s cock, and it’s definitely enough to get him there. He’s fighting not to finish yet. Wil didn’t say he could.

 

“You feel so good,” Wil murmurs. “So perfect for me, baby.”

 

“I—ah—I’m close—“ Jack hiccups. Barely gets the words out. 

 

“You gonna come for me?” Wil snaps his hips even harder. “Gonna come on my cock? Go ahead, sweetheart. I wanna feel it.”

 

Jack falls apart with a whole-body shudder, squeezing down around Wil’s dick. He makes a sticky mess between them. And that sensation is the last thing he really registers before he’s slipped too far down in the fog to have thoughts anymore.

 

*** 

 

Everything is quiet. Soft. Jack’s wrists are sore, but no longer bound. There’s no blindfold around his head anymore, but he’s not ready to open his eyes. He’s sprawled on top of a warm, solid body, cheek resting against a broad chest that’s rising and falling with steady breaths. Fingers card through his hair gently. There’s an arm wrapped around his waist. 

 

“Are you back, sweetheart?” Wil sounds amused. “I was starting to wonder if I’d broken you for good.”

 

“Ngghh.” Is all Jack manages to say. He doesn’t want to be a human yet. He wants to stay here where he’s safe and calm. 

 

“That’s OK. There’s no rush. You take as long as you need. I’ll be here.”

 

Jack lets out a contented sigh and lets himself drift off again. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so offended that this isn't a bigger ship. Title from the [Nathaniel Rateliff](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qM7iLbFXQF8) song. I'm emotions.


End file.
